The Surge - pt3

I sprint toward him, my wound throbbing with each step, but I dismiss the pain, uncaring of the consequences. He extends his hands in a clear warning gesture.

"You injured. Be careful!" he stammers, his grasp of my language still rudimentary, yet his expression is laden with immense concern.

I ignore his caution and, within moments, I hurl myself into his arms. Tears of joy stream down my face.

The world around us seems to fade away, leaving only the two of us in this ephemeral moment. As I embrace him, I'm enveloped by his warmth, as if he's a sanctuary in the midst of this chaotic world.

His arms wrap around me, strong yet gentle, as if he's both shielding me from harm and cherishing my fragility.

The moonlight filters through the canopy of luminescent flora above, casting ethereal glows that dance around us, as if the universe itself is celebrating this union. His scent fills the air, a comforting aroma that I've come to associate with safety and love.

His muscles, tense from the recent battle, relax for the first time tonight as he holds me. I feel his breath on my neck, ragged but steadying, as if my presence has brought him peace.

For a moment, all the horrors we've faced, all the fears and uncertainties, they all evaporate, leaving only the pure, unspoken connection between us. In his arms, I find a love and safety that I've yearned for, a brief respite in a world filled with dangers and unknowns.

And so we stand, locked in an embrace that feels as if it could last an eternity, and yet, is over all too soon. But in that fleeting instant, I feel a lifetime's worth of love and assurance, and I know that whatever challenges lie ahead, we'll face them together.

"We care friends," he says, his broken sentence structure making me chuckle.

"Do you mean they took care of my injured friends?" I reply, trying to meet his eyes, but they are vigilantly scanning the surroundings.

"Yes," his response is distant.

I choose to remain silent, better to let him focus on ensuring my safety. I stay wrapped in his arms, noticing that I'm feigning a limp more than I should. Is it a reflex, my mind telling my body to make him worry about me?

We walk for several minutes, both of us quiet, his eyes scanning every nook and cranny around us. I wish I could have seen him fight, to witness his strength. To take on a Twisted with just his fists, he must be exceptionally powerful.

After retracing the path I had taken while fleeing from the creature, without me even needing to guide him, we arrive at the scene of the attack. Several sentinels are present. As we emerge from the dense forest, they quickly arm themselves for defense, but the leader of the sentinel group signals for them to lower their weapons.

The four injured have been taken back to the bastion, leaving only the most veteran of our sentinels to patrol the area.

"Szil, are you alright? What happened?" the leader of the sentinels, Xrix, the most powerful and skilled among us, asks.

"Commander Xrix," I greet him with the sign of respect within our people, raising my hand and rotating it in front of my face—a gesture created by martyrs during the war to honor the fallen.

"I was cornered by the Twisted. I would be dead if not for him," I nod toward Ruri. "He fought the Twisted on equal footing, forcing it to flee or be killed," I conclude, aiming for technicality but it comes out more like boasting.

The sentinels react with disbelief. To them, my words seem absurd.

"He... defeated... a Twisted, using just his hands?" Xrix questions, his voice shaky.

"Yes," I reply, simply and directly.

"I want to hear all the details later, Szil. We'll send someone to escort you both back to the bastion," the commander says, clearing his throat.

"I don't think that's necessary. I believe it would be easier for him to escort all of us than for someone to escort him," my voice comes out more mocking than I intended.

Xrix averts his gaze, falls silent for a moment, and says, "Alright, be careful."

We bid farewell to the sentinels and proceed toward the bastion. The walk is long, and I can't muster a single word. I remain completely silent.

It's a strange sensation. In our culture, we women are the initiators. We are the ones who speak to men; we control the discourse. Yet, I can't bring myself to say a word. I want him to speak, to say something to me.

But nothing comes from his mouth.

Every so often, I glance at his face, always alert to his surroundings, all his attention on spotting and identifying any threat. I deem it best not to disturb him.

For a moment, guilt weighs on me. Had I not shouted, he might have defeated the Twisted, or he could have been caught off guard. My single, reckless action, done irrationally and foolishly. My face burns with shame, and I keep my eyes on the ground, silently begging him not to look at my face.

As we approach the bastion, the towering fortress looms ahead, its silhouette etched against the night sky. The moonlight casts an ethereal glow on the massive stone walls, making them appear almost spectral.

Tonight, the bastion is a fortress on full alert, its defenses fully activated. The battlements are bristling with weaponry, all aimed outward into the darkness. Sentinel squads patrol the walls in tight formations, their armor glinting in the sporadic light from the watchtowers. Sigils glow softly on the ground, part of a defense grid designed to ward off intruders. Even the air feels thick with tension, as if the very atmosphere is bracing for an attack.

As we draw nearer, the guards recognize us and signal to the watchtower. With a grinding noise that echoes ominously in the still night air, the gates begin to creak open just enough to allow us passage. Soldiers armed to the teeth stand at the ready on either side, their eyes scanning the dark forest beyond us as if expecting the Twisted to leap out at any moment.

We step through the gates, and they immediately close behind us with a resounding thud, sealing us off from the dangers outside. For a moment, I feel a sense of relief wash over me, as if the walls of the bastion themselves are embracing me in a protective hug.

But as I look up at Ruri, his eyes are still vigilant, never straying from their watchful gaze. Even within the safety of the bastion, he remains on guard, as if the threat is far from over. And perhaps it is. But for now, we are safe, and that has to be enough.

I can feel my strength waning, a sensation that doesn't go unnoticed by Ruri. As people begin to gather around us, peppering us with questions, he raises his hand to dismiss them. His vocabulary may be limited, but his intent is clear.

He guides me to Master Haas's mansion, where I've been living ever since my mother passed away. The master has been like a father to me, even grooming me to one day lead the bastion in his stead.

We enter and ascend the staircase. Seated at a counter is Master Haas, surrounded by high-ranking sentinels deeply engrossed in strategic discussions. The moment we appear, all conversations cease, and every eye turns toward us.

"I see you both are quite injured. Are you alright?" Master Haas's voice, tinged with relief, fills the hushed room.

"Yes, Master Haas, thanks to Ruri, I am well," I reply, my voice tinged with a joyous relief.

Two seats are quickly arranged for us. I recount the night's events, sparing no detail. Once again, I find myself surrounded by incredulous faces, all staring at Ruri in disbelief. Even now, I can hardly believe that he was able to engage in hand-to-hand combat with a Twisted, albeit a young one, and emerge victorious.

Ruri seems a bit uncomfortable, though it's clear he doesn't fully understand everything I've said. But my sincerity has reached him; I can see it in the way he looks at me now. And that makes me feel good, really good.

"Alright, I think you can go rest now, Szil. I'll call Halbel to look at your injuries," Master Haas says. One of the sentinels helps me to my feet and guides me to my room. I see faces filled with concern and attentiveness, all relieved to see me well.

Before ascending the stairs, I glance back for one last look at Ruri. His eyes lock onto mine. A faint smile graces his face, and I can read his lips whispering 'rest well' to me. My heart races, and I feel my face flush. Quickly, I avert my gaze and hurry up the stairs.

I cleanse myself in a long, soothing bath filled with relaxing herbs developed by Halbel. Closing my eyes, I feel my body finally shedding all the tension and terror that had gripped it.

After a while, lying in my bed and unusually not reading anything, just staring at the ceiling, I hear a knock on the door. Halbel enters.

"Szil, how are you, my dear?" She rushes to my bed and embraces me. I feel a wave of love emanating from her.

"I'm fine. More importantly, how are Mjiah and the others?" My tone of concern lifts the tension from her expression, replacing it with a sincere smile.

"They're all fine, thanks to you," she says, smoothing my hair behind my ear. "Mjiah will be here soon, don't worry."

We engage in a lengthy conversation. Halbel has always been a constant presence in my life, being my best friend's mother and my late mother's best friend. Our bond is strong.

"The way you talk about Ruri, it's making me suspicious," she teases.

"Yes! It's exactly what you're thinking!" I stick my tongue out at her.

We spend a good amount of time talking about him while she treats me. Halbel begins by applying a poultice of herbs and natural plants to my wound. The sensation is refreshing, far more effective than any technology our people possess. Halbel has been studying the special properties of plants long before our species arrived on this planet. Probes had brought various samples, and over many decades, she has perfected the art—not just of healing the body, but also of enhancing its capabilities. The mixture she applies not only soothes the pain but also seems to invigorate my muscles, making me feel stronger than before.

The door bursts open suddenly. It's Mjiah. She rushes in and throws herself into my arms. We both kiss and start crying.

"I can't believe we're alive!" Tears of joy stream down her face as she hugs me tightly.

"How are your injuries?" I try to push her away to get a better look, but she resists.

"They're fine, Mom took care of them, and I don't feel much pain anymore," she says, nearly suffocating me with her embrace.

Now the three of us engage in a long conversation filled with laughter.

"To think that it all ended well thanks to the exovar," Halbel remarks, her comment tinged with mischief. My face instantly turns red.

"Yes, Mom! I thought Szil was interested in him, but she said she wasn't, so I'm going to invite him to eat with us tomorrow," Mjiah says, grinning even more mischievously than her mother.

I feel like punching her.

"Oh, are you sure about that, my daughter?" Halbel says, glancing at me.

Mjiah's eyes meet mine. She sees my irritated expression, my cheeks burning in a mixture of jealousy and embarrassment.

"Don't even think about it," I lean in close to her, "He's mine!"

I thought she would take it as a joke before I said that, but now I see a hint of sadness clouding her face. Clearly, she wasn't joking. She covers it up with a smile.

"May the best woman win, right, my friend?" Her smile isn't one of joy; it's one of provocation.

We spend a good amount of time talking, laughing, and hugging.

It's not just a day of celebration; it's a day marking the beginning of a new life.